Walk On By: How I Spend My Summers Sober

Spring and early summer in New York City is one of my favorite times of the year. The sun is shining, it’s warm but not sweltering hot, you can just throw on flip flops and be on your way, and the streets are swarming with (mostly) happy, sunshine worshipers, walking their dogs, laying out in the park and filling outdoor cafes.

But this outdoor magic can quickly become a danger for a recovering alcoholic. The people sitting at outdoor cafes, enjoying cool glasses of white wine or early evening martinis — take on a romantic, almost otherworldly glow if I choose to lay my eyes on them for too long. Suddenly what I see is much more than what is really there. I see solace. I see a refuge where all my problems will disappear. I see a place that will be a steadfast and unquestioning companion.

Like that woman at that table with her Macbook and a beer. Surely I could do that? Work on my column (let’s pretend it’s not about alcoholism) and enjoy a cold one at the same time?

Or that lady sitting with her husband, enjoying brunch and a Bloody Mary — such a fabulous compliment to eggs benedict or an omelet. I’m sure I could sip just one of those salty, tomato-filled concoctions; it’s part of the meal, after all.

These are the things that my alcoholic mind will say to me if I spend too long lingering on the subject. The reality? Of course I could hit that café with my computer, order a glass of Pinot Grigio and work on my writing. That first sip might taste amazing, but quite soon the taste wouldn’t matter, one glass would turn into five, and while I might be able to bang out a few good paragraphs, I’d leave in a hazy state, dying to pass out. Which I would do, the moment I got home.

And when I woke up, I’d feel depressed and gut-wrenchingly lonely. And I’d want to do it all over again to make those feelings go away.

Summer is what I long for all year and yet, it can still be such a hard season to get through. You can literally smell the drinks as you walk down the streets in New York City, and those three-for-one chalk-written ads that sit outside almost every restaurant or bar seem to beg me to come on inside. Of course, there are no cute soda shops offering all-you-can-drink egg crèmes, or if there are, I don’t notice them.

I used to take longer routes home to avoid specific booze-filled blocks. But it made me angry: I was doing my part to stay out of bars, and yet here they were, creeping out from the inside, onto the city streets, showing themselves off wherever I went. I hated them all, as if they were people specifically fucking with me; enemies purposely poised on the sidewalk to set me up for a relapse.

The wonderful thing is that now, two-plus years into sobriety, I don’t feel this way (for today, at least). Those outdoor cafes don’t shine with the same dreamy light that they used to; they no longer pop out as serene sanctuaries. They just are. And if occasionally, that voice pipes in with the “you could have one…it’s such a nice day….,” I just say, “Bullshit,” and keep on walking. And never have I once regretted a walk-by.

And if I need to, I don’t picture the scene as it would start: Susan, the sophisticated woman writing and sipping wine. Rather, I imagine how it would end: At best, Susan, back home and passed out on her bed with a more or less empty (or nonsensical) word doc in a computer we hope she remembered to put in its case and bring home. At worst, a passed-out drunk in the park.

Which is what I was one gorgeous summer day in June 2011. Deadline-free, I headed to Brooklyn Bridge park with a blanket, some SPF, a book and a bottle (or two) of wine filled in thermoses. What a wonderful way to enjoy the outside, right? Not when you wake up five hours later, confused and unsure of where you are. It was almost dark, and I was not in the place where I originally sat down, but rather off in the corner under a mass of shady trees. Miraculously, nothing from my bag had been stolen, and mercifully, I hadn’t been kidnapped, raped or killed.

I wasn’t the free-as-a-bird, creative freelancer taking the afternoon to do some research outside. That was my costume. In reality I was lonely and filling up a restless, empty hole inside myself. Outside, it all seemed acceptable; the same wouldn’t be true if I were drinking two bottles of wine alone, inside my apartment. (Which I eventually ended up doing regularly anyway.)

Thankfully, that really dark period is behind me now, and I can only hope that I never make those seeped-in-disease decisions again.

And now I no longer dread the summer, even if it means being a little more prepared with my mantras in mind. Because there is so much more to the outside, things my alcoholism never allowed me to see. Hiking, walking, biking, sunbathing with a Diet Coke by my side (delicious!).

As my sober vision expands, so does my life, and as long as I’m willing to accept my limitations and do a little work, I’m able to see the unlimited amount of things I can enjoy outdoors. Things I was incapable of caring about before.

[…] And as I’ve mentioned before, there are also those outdoor cafes that used to make me Frogger around the blocks of New York City. The mere view of those lovely people enjoying lovely drinks in the sun while discussing their lovely lives was enough to make me want to say to hell with this whole sober thing. […]

[…] The image of sitting with my computer at a table in the corner of a bar, “with a beer.” (I love Susan Linney’s reflections on that, too.) Wine was fine, too. Either way, somehow they signaled a wall around me; I was in my […]

Hi Millicent, I believe we are all on the earth to share. IF you feel someone can learn from your experiences than I encourage you to do this as well. I am not a natural writer, but I believe I have something of value to offer. Thank you for your comment.

Are Ab Rollers worth doing?I just wanted to know because I do 100 every night and I just want to know if it is worth it to even do them. I’m trying to get a six pack, so if there is any exercise you can think of that could help, please tell me!

Atheism has brought on more death and terror in it’s [sic] short sway than any other ideology. And it is an ideology, not the lack of one.xlbrl, you cannot possibly be serious. What “death and terror” has been brought about by atheism? Absolutely none whatsoever. What has brought about death and terror is Islam, that horrible cult. Normal religions (like Christianity, Judaism, etc.) and those who don’t believe in a religion (i.e. atheists) have not recently, en masse, brought about anything terrible. Islam is the enemy, not atheism.

Margit’s Note: You Glow, Girl

Hey you! We’re back with a new issue and it’s a hot and spicy scorcher. Our theme this week is Glow — as in “Glow little glow worm glimmer, glimmer.” As in fiery pink and orange lights blazing across a June night.